


I hate to admit it but I miss the war

by RainbowRandomness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), F/M, M/M, What-If, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowRandomness/pseuds/RainbowRandomness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The war is over, Steve. We can go home. Imagine it."</i>
</p><p>What if Bucky was also seen in Steve's Wanda induced dream?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I hate to admit it but I miss the war

**Author's Note:**

> can't remember if there was a tumblr prompt for this but if there is one, I dunno where it is anymore. I just know this idea has been written on a lil post it note stuck to my ceiling for a few months now, probably way before AoU was even out in cinemas yet and we were all seeing those lil grainy as shit spoilers on tumblr. 
> 
> or maybe not, probably been stuck to my ceiling since it came out in cinemas and I've just been waiting months to write it and finally it's done. not sure if I did it the justice I wanted to, but I hope it's still good all the same.
> 
> Title from _This Means War_ by Marianas Trench

The hall was loud, filled with laughter that rung in his ears and the sounds of explosions and gunfire that rang clear beneath the jazz music flowing through the room. He made his way down the steps and was enveloped by the noise, thronged by people dancing together, woman being spun from soldiers arms and smiling wide with deep red lips, ready for the cameras flash. People were sat at tables draped in white cloths, laughing together as wine spilled from their glasses like blood spilling forth from bullet wounds. He looked around in confused disbelief, unsure of where he was or what was happening; a bulb flashed from his right, making him flinch away from the glare.

Through the faint smoke permitting through the air, he could see two soldiers push at each other, teeth bared and stances ready to fight. Their uniforms were similar, the only giveaway they were on opposing teams being the symbolic patches sewn into their sleeves. He peered down at himself briefly, noticing his own pristine uniform cut and tailored to fit his form. It had been years since he had worn this uniform although sometimes it still felt like only days ago since he had last worn it, the stars and pins gleaming against his lapel.

Two soldiers laughed at one another, even as one of them put pressure on the bleeding bullet wound of the soldier beneath him. His wine sloshed haphazardly in his wine glass as he continued to laugh hysterically at the man helping him, his laughter echoing and merging with the sound of rapid gunfire. Somewhere else, two soldiers fought, officers trying to hold them back as they grunted and fought against their restraints to get at each other. A woman smiled as she was spun from her partners grasp; the cameras flashed again.

The music was beginning to fade now, the laughter of the people in the hall still echoing off the walls but soon began to fade with the music into a barely there white noise. Steve stood in the middle of the floor, confused by what he saw around him, when he felt a hand glide down his arm gently, and a familiar voice ask, “Are you ready for our dance?”

Steve turned and there she was, smiling at him, her hair perfectly curled and pinned into place, her eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the room. She was beautiful, her presence catching him by surprise as she stole the breath from his lungs with her smile. Her name was resting on the tip of his tongue, his mouth opening slightly in surprised disbelief as he went to say, “Peggy...” but he didn’t, his face frozen with shock. He hesitated before turning to look back at the room around them, people dancing and laughing together as the bright flashes of camera bulbs perpetrated the cigarette smoke and blinded him where he stood.

“The wars over, Steve,” Peggy said, her voice clear against the background noise of the hall, her tone reassuring as he turned round to face her again.

“We can go home,” she looked almost hopeful, a smile tugging at her lips as if she were thinking of them walking hand in hand to a place they could call ‘home’. She seemed almost excited at the idea of it and he gazed at her, not knowing what to say because there was no ‘home’ for him, for them. This was all in his mind; a nightmare conjured up by the girl Hydra had experimented on and he knew it wasn’t real, knew it couldn’t let himself fall for the promises Peggy was offering him because he knew, deep down, they weren’t real.

She gazed at him, her smile beginning to fade, “Imagine it.”

There was a ringing in his ears, a sharp crescendo of sound that made him turn to face the room again, only to find the large hall empty, void of people or sound. Discarded drinks rested on abandoned tables, old smoke seemed to hang in the air before beginning to fade from the room; the instruments the band had been playing where left on stage, the lights lining the bottom of the theatre glinting off the surface of the drum kit. There was no one left in the room except for him and his glazed over as he imagined himself and Peggy dancing amongst the others, their attention only focused on each other as he pulled her close and leant into her touch. For a moment, he could swear he could feel her breathe against his cheek and her body pressed against his where he held her in his arms as they danced.

“Steve.”

Another voice, familiar and yet somehow different this time, the voice of a ghost in a distance memory calling him. Steve spun around where he stood to see Bucky stood before the stage, his stance confident and easy, his hands tucked into the pockets of his uniform trousers. His jacket was pristine; everything pressed and placed where it should be, except for his hat, which was tipped at a slight angle like the first time Steve saw him in his uniform in the alley behind the theatre. Bucky looks just as young as he did then, standing tall with an easy smile on his face as he stands a short distance away from Steve in the grand, empty hall.

“The war is over, Steve,” he says, his Brooklyn accent thick and Steve’s name blossoming like a flower the moment it leaves Bucky’s tongue. He begins to walk forward slowly, hands still shoved in his pockets and his movements slow and easy, like there’s no rush to reach Steve, as if they have all the time in the world. Steve is frozen where he stands, drinking in the sight of Bucky so young, untouched by the war, by Hydra, his smile radiant in the dim light of the hall.

“We can go home,” he sounds hopeful and excited, just like Peggy did, and for a moment Steve hears her voice overlap Bucky’s as he mimics Peggy’s earlier words. Steve thinks of them then, returning from war whole aside from the scars of the battle and the nightmares that would plague them both; he thinks about them returning to their little apartment in Brooklyn, the rooms covered in dust and the wallpaper sliding off the decaying brick walls. He glances away from Bucky’s radiant face, his beauty almost blinding, and looks down to see his body is small again, his buttoned shirt too big for his thin frame, his jacket too wide for his small shoulders.

“Imagine it, Stevie,” he hears Bucky say and he looks up, only to hold back a gasp at the sight of the Winter Soldier standing before him. He’s standing where Bucky was stood only moments before, his long hair falling in front of his face to hide the intense blue of his eyes that are covered by black paint, his mask covering the lower half of his face like a muzzle. He’s bent forward as if ready to pounce and blood drips from his metal arm, the red liquid moving through the metal plates of the arm sluggishly before falling in droplets from his fingertips and onto the wooden floor.

“ _Imagine it,_ ” he spits in Russian, his words muffled by the mask. Steve looks away again, not wanting to see the hatred in his friend’s eyes, and looks down to see himself big again, adorned in the same Captain America uniform he wore during the war, the same uniform he wore on the helicarrier hoping to jog Bucky’s lost memories.

When he looks up again, Bucky is standing directly in front of him and he grabs him by the throat, lifting him inches above the ground. The cold metal of his fingers digs into the soft skin of his throat and Steve reaches up to pry at the fingers wrapped around his neck, trying to loosen their grip to no avail. He stares at Bucky and the intensity of hatred sparking in the blues of his eyes; his brows furrow for a moment as if confusion, as if he recognizes Steve, but the anger quickly returns, his grip tightening further before he lifts him higher and throws him towards the ground.

Steve expects to hit the floor but instead finds the whistling of a harsh wind piercing his ears and everything around him is a pure and blinding white. He’s sure he’s screaming but he can’t hear himself, and he stares at Bucky’s form still reaching for him, one arm outstretched towards him as he clings to the side of the train. He can hear the echo of Bucky screaming his name and his short, brown hair whips at his face, snow clinging to the fabric of his blue jacket as he watches Steve fall into the abyss.

The last thing he sees before waking up from where he slumped over in the dark, dank ship is Bucky turning away towards the side of the train, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks.

-

“Isn’t that the mission?” Tony questioned him, watching as Steve reached for another wooden log from his pile.

“Isn’t that the _why_ we fight, so we can _end_ the fight, so we get to _go home_?”

He doesn’t entirely think when he rips the log in half with his bare hands. There’s a sudden silence that falls between them, a moment where Steve tries to calmly collect himself back together so he can answer Tony, even as the memories of Peggy and Bucky from his dream crowd his thoughts, their words echoing in his mind.

“ _The war is over, Steve._ ”

“ _We can go home._ ”

He doesn’t have a home to return to; not anymore.

“ _Imagine it._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RainbowRandoms) and [tumblr](http://rainbow-randomness.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site.


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